


nobody but you

by santiagone



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Friendship, a whole lotta fluff, and also some sad times but ya know, but also more than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6055438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santiagone/pseuds/santiagone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz, told through Valentine’s Days.</p><p>(or, Jemma doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day, but she believes in friendship and chocolates and roses all year around, and most importantly, she believes in Leopold Fitz.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	nobody but you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for connor-crl over at Tumblr for the FitzSimmons Secret Valentine exchange!! I'm really, really hoping you enjoy this!! <3

_seventeen_.

 

It’s a Saturday.

She’s sitting at a park bench, hunched over her latest notes, and she is alone. It’s a feeling she is familiar with. Being a child prodigy is advantageous in many things, yes, but making friends is not one of them.

So there she sits, very much alone, until suddenly there’s an awkward cough and a shadow falling across her papers. And when she glances up, fully prepared to move out of the way for an expectant amorous couple, she’s surprised to see when there’s just one boy.

But he’s not just any boy. His name is Leopold Fitz. He is seventeen. He is almost smarter than her, he hates her, and they were paired together in Chem lab yesterday. Jemma Simmons knows all these things. What she doesn’t know is how important this very moment is.

(But she will, eleven years from now, when she is no longer hovering between the precipice of childhood and adulthood.)

So, with all this information in mind, she smiles politely at Fitz. “Hello.”

“Hi,” he says, and she’s surprised to hear that he actually sounds sort of nervous. “Um.. Are you waiting for anyone?”

“Waiting..? Oh. You mean, have I got a significant other..?”

He nods, and she smiles at him.

“Well, I don’t. I don’t believe in Valentine’s Day.”

Fitz stares at her curiously. It’s an odd experience. She’s never seen that expression on Fitz before. Granted, she’s not really seen many expressions on Fitz other than hate, but it’s an interesting experience all the same.

“Why not?” he asks, and she takes a moment to think about it.

“I don’t know, really,” she replies after a moment. “It just seems rather silly. That there’s a whole day dedicated to love, I mean. You should love all year around. Being extra affectionate on one particular day of the year shouldn’t make a difference. It’s all a bit pointless.”

Fitz is quiet for a while.

“Well, it’s a bit like birthdays,” he says eventually. “Why should we celebrate a specific day for being born? Shouldn’t we celebrate all year around for being alive?”

She pulls a face. “Well, birthdays are a bit different..”

But the damage is done. Jemma Simmons’ interest is peaked, and she doesn’t quite know it, but later that night, Fitz will congratulate himself on finally finding something clever enough to say.

(neither of them comment on the fact that they essentially became friends on the universal day of love.)

  


_eighteen._

  


The gangly limbs and awkwardness have started to fade (well, not _entirely_ ), but the pasty skin and love for science sticks around, and with it, Jemma Simmons gains a best friend.

It’s an odd feeling, having a best friend. She’s never had one before, but she regrets the fact. Who knew having a best friend could be so intoxicating? She revels in his smile, outwardly rolls her eyes at his horrible jokes and inwardly laughs at them, wakes up every morning thinking of what she’s going to say to him. He’s the first person to tell about her latest discovery, and they haven’t yet slipped into the pattern of finishing each other’s sentences, but sometimes Jemma thinks she can read him like an open book.

This particular Valentine’s Day, she’s pretending not to notice as he pinches one of her marshmallows and drops it into his hot chocolate, instead bending her head and scribbling on the back of a paper napkin.

“You know what they say about us, right?” Fitz asks, somewhat out of the blue.

Jemma doesn’t glance up from her napkin. “You mustn't worry about them, Fitz, our intelligence combined is probably triple theirs. Sometimes it’s hard for people to accept-”

“No, it’s not that!” Fitz cuts in, and she finally pauses to glance up at him, curiosity pulling her lips into a frown.

“No?”

“They think we’re..” he trails off, but she knows exactly what he’s insinuating.

“Oh!” She widens her eyes at him. “Well.. We don’t have to bend to fit the social norms. We already spend every other day of the year together, it would just be silly if we spent this one day apart.”

He nods in vigorous agreement, and she offers him a smile. “Unless there’s someone you have your eye on?”

“No,” Fitz admits, shoulders lifting in a light shrug. He pauses then, his mannerisms almost shy. They still have moments like this sometimes, moments that remind her of the Fitz she’d known a year ago, when they weren’t as comfortable with each other. “But if you think about it.. this was the day we properly became friends.”

She brightens, and grins at him. “There we go! That’s our reasoning, then. Our Friendaversary. It’ll be brilliant.”

(she wonders why nobody seems to believe her when she tells this story.)

  


_nineteen._

  


“Fitz! Open up!”

Jemma knocks insistently on Fitz’s door, until finally it swings open to reveal Fitz raising his eyebrows at her.

“You couldn’t have waited five more minutes? I was having a shower.”

She pauses to examine him. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is wet, and his shirt collar is slightly damp.

“Sorry,” she concludes eventually. “Can you let me in? I’m feeling distinctly… uncomfortable.”

Fitz laughs and steps aside to let her inside, and immediately she hurries in, dumping her bags on his couch and shedding her jacket immediately.

He closes the door behind her, and she has to pretend not to notice him snickering.

“Was it James and his new girlfriend?”

“No!” Jemma hisses, crossing her arms to glare at him insistently. “Well, partly. Don’t _laugh_ , Fitz! I can’t help it if I’m bothered by all those amorous couples.” She pauses to give a dramatic shiver. “Honestly, I don’t think I can go out again after one _particularly_ showy display on the way here. Quite frankly, I’m surprised they weren’t arrested for public indecency, the way they were going on. You know, it might be alright if it were romantic, but I don’t see any romanticism in clinging to each other like.. like..”

“Leeches?”

“Yes!”

Fitz is still laughing as she throws herself onto his couch and tugs her boots off.

“It _is_ Valentine’s Day,” he points out.

She sighs. “I hate Valentine’s Day.”

“I know you do. Speaking of, my mum sent some chocolates over. Want some?”

Jemma twists to grin at him over the couch. “I think sugar might be the only solution to this horrifying day.”

He obeys, rifling through the cupboards and rolling his eyes at the way she wrinkles her nose at his untidy way of going about things.

“Well, it’s not a completely horrible day, is it?” he asks, finally settling down beside her and holding out the box.

“No,” she concedes. “Happy Friendaversary, Fitz.”

He snorts. “That name is still as ridiculous as the first time you named it.”

“Oh, this is coming from you, is it? What was it you wanted to name our last prototype?” she teases, and he huffs.

“Take a chocolate, Jemma.”

She peeks into the box, only to blink in surprise. “There’s no orange ones!”

“Yeah, well, I got hungry last night and I know you hate the orange ones, so..” Fitz trails off, somewhat sheepishly, and she scoffs to hide the brilliant smile threatening to break over.

“Only you would consider eating chocolates as considerate,” she laughs. “Budge over, you’re taking up the whole couch. Plus, you’re sitting too close, and you stink.”

“I _don’t_!”

(he doesn’t.)

  


_twenty._

 

They’re in their shared apartment, and Jemma still can’t get used to the fact that she’s sharing a living space with her best friend, even though it’s been several months and their belongings are mingled together, even though their toothbrushes share a holder and their coats sit side by side on the hanger. Her stomach does several turns every time she thinks about it, and she thinks that these must be the side affects of having a best friend.

“So,” she starts, dropping a tea bag into her mug, “how many people in the past week?”

“Um.. Griffin asked me whether I was single yet, two agents from operatives told me that I was lucky, and,” Fitz blushes, “that red-head - Sarah? - informed me that you would like the tulips better than the petunias.”

Jemma raises her eyebrows. “You were buying flowers for me?”

“No, they were for my mum. You know that.”

“Right.” She leans forward on the breakfast counter, chin propped up in her hands. “It’s quite ridiculous, really, all these assumptions that people make.”

Fitz makes a noise of agreement, grabbing for the biscuit tin. When he can’t quite reach it, she rolls her eyes and nudges it towards him.

“I think it’s getting better though,” she muses, accepting a biscuit from Fitz.

He doesn’t look up, instead searching the tin for what he deems the perfect biscuit. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she says earnestly. “Harris actually asked me out to dinner tonight.”

That captures Fitz’s attention, and he glances up sharply. “What did you say?”

She huffs at him. “ _No_ , of course. _We_ always spend Valentine’s Day together.”

“Well, if you want to-”

“I don’t.”

“-you should, it’s just a silly tradition-”

“It’s _not_."

“-and it doesn’t even matter anyway-”

“It does!” she insists firmly, and that keeps him quiet. She places a reassuring hand on his arm. “It matters to me. Besides, if he really wants to take me out on a date, he can do it any other day of the year. You know I don’t believe in this sort of thing.”

“I remember,” he concedes, but his eyes flicker with uncertainty. “You’re sure?”

Jemma nods. “Positive. Besides, there’s no place else I’d rather be.”

(they share a smile, and a biscuit, and, she hopes, the rest of their lives.)

  


_twenty-one._

  


They’re both swamped with work and working frantically to get it finished even though they’re at least a week and a half early. She chews her lip and tucks her hair behind an ear just as her phone buzzes, and she can feel Fitz’s gaze burning as she immediately declines the call.

“Who was that?” he asks, and she can hear the suspicion in his voice even through the pencil he’s chewing on.

She shakes her head at him. “No one,” she says cheerfully. “What page are you up to?”

“Five, and it’s clearly not _no one_ , Jemma. I’ve never seen you decline a call so fast. It’s not one of those dodgy people phoning for your money, is it?”

“Oh, you’re a page behind me then,” she says, reaching over the messy spread of papers to examine one in particular.

“Jemma.”

“It was from an unknown number so I ignored it,” she answers quickly, and even if her voice hadn’t risen about three octaves, Fitz knows her well enough to tell when she’s lying anyway, and she sighs in defeat. “It’s from Harris.”

Fitz glances up and frowns. “Harris your boyfriend?”

“No, Harris my goldfish,” she says sarcastically, swatting his arm. “Yes, Harris my boyfriend!”

“Well, I don’t know, do I? You’ve been chummy with loads of people recently,” he mumbles, and she gapes at him.

“I have _not_!”

“Yes, Simmons, you have.”

She searches quickly for her defence, feeling oddly hurt. “You know why I’ve been talking around, Fitz! Lucy Seville told me that the best way to get a good job-”

“-is through connections, yeah, yeah.” Fitz rolls his eyes. “I know, you’ve told me before. Lots of times, actually. Just..” He pauses then, glancing down at his work and mumbling, “Just don’t go gallivanting off anywhere without me, okay?”

It suddenly strikes her why Fitz has been so tetchy recently, and she feels a huge surge of warmth for her friend (her _best_ friend). “ _Fitz_. You know I would never go anywhere without you.”

“Yeah, well, what if it was a really good job? One you couldn’t turn down?”

“I’d turn it down anyway,” she insists, and when he doesn’t seem particularly convinced, she brushes the papers to the side and moves until she’s sitting so close that she’s sure her bony shoulder is digging into him. “You’re my best friend, Fitz. Best friends don’t abandon each other, and more importantly, I’ll never abandon you. You’re silly if you think I’d even consider the possibility.”

She pokes his side for good measure, and when she’s rewarded with a tentative grin, she feels a surge of inexplicable happiness.

“I’ve told you not to poke me,” he complains, and she huffs and kicks at his leg with her foot.

“You can’t tell me to do anything, Leopold,” she retorts, and they spiral back into their bickering and their papers, and it’s a while before he asks again, fingers twisting his pen nervously, and his eyes not quite meeting hers.

“What did your boyfr- I mean, Harris, want?”

Jemma pulls her pencil out from her mouth and scribbles some notes in the margins of Fitz’s work. “He just wanted to go out for dinner,” she says distractedly. “You know, it’s lucky I’m your best friend, because your handwriting really is atrocious.”

She’s so absorbed in checking over his work that she only hums non-committally at his next words, and she only jerks up after he says her name for the second time.

“Sorry?”

Fitz hesitates for only a moment. “I said.. You should go.”

She blinks at him, mouth parting slightly. “W-What? Have I upset you? Have you.. you know, found someone else to share the flat with? A.. a girlfriend?”

“What? No, Jemma, it’s nothing like that!”

She crumples in relief. “Oh.”

“I was just..” He’s taking a while to get the words out, but Jemma has no problem waiting for Fitz. “I meant, that you should go on the date. With Harris.”

Jemma halts, head tilting slightly, caught with obvious surprise. “You.. You want me to go for dinner with Harris? Tonight?”

He nods, focusing determinedly on the couch. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to, obviously.”

“But.. But it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Exactly,” he agrees. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Romantic, and all that. Lots of chocolates and roses and serenades. It’s why you should go, with your boyfriend, instead of spending the day here with.. well, me.”

Jemma’s head is spinning, but not enough to stop from protesting. “But you’re my best friend! And I don’t believe in Valentine’s Day.”

“But Harris does,” Fitz says, and she’s taken aback by the gentleness in his eyes. “Just.. bring me back some chocolates, yeah?”

And maybe his convincing worked or maybe it’s that endearing question, or maybe it’s the tone of his voice, but she finds herself agreeing tentatively, still clutching papers to her chest.

“You should go and get ready,” he announces, grabbing for her phone. “I’ll text Harris for you.”

Without quite thinking about it, she leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you, Fitz.” And then she’s leaping out of her seat and bustling towards her room, and she only pauses when Fitz calls her name right before she’s almost disappeared.

She hangs her head around the corner and smiles. “Yeah?”

“I..” He pauses, and his expression changes. “Have fun, yeah?”

“I will,” she promises, spinning into her room with a ridiculous smile.

(and she does have fun, up until she turns up home slightly drunk, teary eyed, and newly single.)

  


_twenty-two._

  


“Who in the bloody hell of all things came up with this idea?”

Jemma stares reproachfully at Fitz. His face is splotched with odd shades of blue from the light of the tent, and he’s wrapped up in about a million blankets, and it might be endearing if only he weren’t so insufferable.

“ _I_ did,” she reminds, somewhat haughtily. “And I think camping was a brilliant idea! After all, you’re the one constantly complaining about all the questions we keep getting about our relationship. Out here, all we have is each other.”

“Still,” he says stubbornly, and he adds a little something under his breath that Jemma doesn’t quite catch.

A rumble of thunder forces it’s way into the conversation, accompanied by another smattering of rain, and Jemma smiles sheepishly as Fitz groans into his blankets.

“Okay, so perhaps I didn’t quite think to check the weather forecast, but the last time I went camping was when I was a little girl! Besides, _you’re_ the one who sat in here like a baby while I set up the tent in the rain, if I recall.”

“Technicalities,” he says with a shrug, but all the same he shrugs off his blankets and drapes them over her shoulder. She draws them tightly around her and tries to dry her hair out - maybe it’ll stop the shivers - as he crawls through the tent to rifle through one of their hastily thrown duffle bags.

“What are you doing?” she queries, but it becomes obvious when he pulls out a packet of crisps and a game of cards.

“Will these suffice as an apology?” he offers, and she smiles at him in answer, holding open her blankets as an invitation for him to huddle with her.

“Just for the record, this is the worst Valentine’s Day ever,” he grumbles, crawling into her personal space, and she drops her head on his shoulder.

“You’re just upset because there’s no internet.”

“I’m disappointed because it’s raining, and I’m cold, and yeah, there’s no internet,” he complains, and she pulls away slightly, glancing up at him with a worried look.

“Is this really that bad? I’m sorry for dragging you along, Fitz.”

He smiles at her, and the tent is suddenly a little less cold. “I was just kidding, Jemma. It’s not that bad.” He nudges her. “We’re stuck with each other, aren’t we?”

“Forever and always,” she agrees. “Now, hand over the crisps please.”

“No way! They’re mine.”

“ _Fiii_ -ttz.”

(he hands them over. she doesn’t give them back.)

  


_twenty-three._

  


“Please, Leo?”

It’s evening, and the sun is setting. Orange pools seep through their apartment windows, and she thinks the utter beauty of it all might be what spurs her to switch on music and put on her sweetest smile.

Fitz, however, pretends not to be affected by the scenery.

“No, Simmons,” he complains, scowling at his first name, and she hops out of the window seat with a pleading pout.

“Come on, Fitz. We had a good day, didn’t we? Let’s take a break from working once in awhile.”

“Okay, I’m not objecting to _relaxing_ , I’m objecting to _dancing_ ,” Fitz points out, crossing his arms and staring stubbornly back at her. His features only turn into a light-hearted glower when she begins to laugh.

“What’s wrong with dancing, Fitz?” she asks innocently, slinging her hands into her pockets and spinning around in the room. If Fitz won’t dance with her, she’ll dance by herself.

“You know perfectly well what’s wrong with it!” Fitz hisses.

“That’s right,” Jemma says mildly. “You can’t.”

“Yes,” sighs Fitz, looking like he can’t decide whether to be mortified or relieved. His eyes track her around the room; his hair seems strangely luminous in the soft golden light. “It’ll be embarrassing, Simmons.”

“It _won’t_. It’s only me, Fitz. I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” She offers him her nicest smile and pauses to extend a hand out to him. “Dance with me. Please? It’s Valentine’s Day.”

There’s a pause, and eventually a long sigh, and suddenly she’s beaming as Fitz pulls himself up by her hand, trailing her awkwardly into the open space of their apartment. They don’t dance hand-to-waist, traditionally, but instead she grabs both of his hands in hers and swings them about in a ridiculous sort of fashion, jumping and moving about to the music clumsily.

“I thought you didn’t believe in Valentine’s Day,” he points out, and she grins.

“I don’t. But I believe in our friendship. I believe in _you_.” She blinks up at him, and many years later, Fitz will tell her that they looked like honey; that, perhaps, this had been the moment he realised just how problematic it was having Jemma Simmons as his best friend.

Fitz doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when he speaks next, he stumbles. “Yeah, well, I believe in you too.”

She swats at him. “Obviously.”

“You sound very confident there, Simmons.”

“You’d _better_ believe in me, Leopold Fitz.”

(spoiler alert; he does. a lot. too much.)

  


_twenty-four._

  


“It’s so strange,” remarks Sally Webber, downing a shot and dropping it on the table without much thought, “that you two have never tried anything.”

Jemma frowns at her through the faint haze of alcohol, glancing over to Fitz, whom she assumes is who Sally is talking about. They’re always talking about Fitz. She doesn’t really understand why, as she observes Fitz drunkenly challenging a few peers to a game of pool.

“It’s so strange,” Jemma replies, “that everyone seems to think we have a non-platonic relationship.”

“I didn’t necessarily say that,” Sally interjects. “I asked if you’d _tried_ anything. There’s bets about you two having the whole friends with benefits things going on, you know.”

Jemma, somewhat slurring her way through the conversation, is not quite alert enough to register this as alarming. Instead, she frowns into her glass. “Friends with benefits? What kind of benefits?”

Sally rolls her eyes. “If you don’t know, clearly you two have never been that.”

“Sorry about your money.”

“Oh, no,” Sally says quite cheerfully. “I bet against it. Louis Jefferson’s going to have some holes in his pockets, though, but I did tell him! Friends with benefits are different, I said. No, I reckon you’ve never even kissed him. You only look at someone’s mouth so much when you’re pining for them, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Jemma says thoughtfully. “I wasn’t aware I was pining for Fitz.”

Sally nods. “No one ever knows. When it’s real, it kind of hits you. Like a train.”

“A metaphorical train? Or a real train? Because I don’t quite fancy being hit by a train.”

“Metaphorical,” Sally clarifies. “It’s a big feeling, you know. Being in love. I felt it when I kissed John for the first time. Mind you, I’m planning on breaking up with him tomorrow.”

“But that’s a superficial type of love,” Jemma muses - drinking turns her a bit whimsical.

“Aye.”

She blinks slowly at Sally. “So what’s real love?”

Sally giggles, and leans forward, her long hair falling in front of her face, finger held to her lips like she’s spilling a big secret.

“Don’t tell Jemma,” she giggles, “but I think it’s you two. One day you’re gonna be great. I can feel it. In here.” She taps the side of her head. “My great-great-grandma was a seer, you know. Could tell the future and stuff. Reckon that’s what I’m doing now. Predicting a grand love story.”

“I much prefer a sci-fi novel,” Jemma murmurs through a yawn, but nobody is really listening.

(and when Jemma wakes up the next morning, she can’t remember much, except for the alarming feeling that she ought to tell John Russo that Sally plans to break up with him.)

  


_twenty-five._

  


“Liesel Young is attracted to you, you know,” she blurts out of nowhere. They’re at the park, taking up an entire bench with their papers and their bags, and the cup of ice cream she’s holding is making her hands numb.

Fitz frowns. “Really?"

Jemma nods, and refuses to feel embarrassed. “Yes.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never noticed anything,” he says, eyes crinkled in confusion. “How do you know?”

She’s tempted to say, ‘I know because I’m your best friend, and best friend’s know everything about each other, and they watch out for each other, and that’s how it works’ but that seems a little too cheesy, and she’s positive Fitz already knows all this, so instead she grins at him.

“A girl always knows.”

He rolls his eyes. “Really, Simmons?”

“Fine,” she relents. “She came up to me the other day, asking if we were dating. When I said no, she asked if you were single. When I said yes, she asked me whether you’re allergic to chocolate. I told her you are, because your sugar intake is already atrocious, and upon answering that she asked me if you were free this Valentine’s Day.”

“And what did you say?” Fitz asks, and suddenly Jemma finds that the park bench is suddenly in need of careful studying.

“Um.. I said that she would have to ask you about it.”

“Right.” Fitz still seems incredibly confused. “But we always spend-”

“Oh, be quiet, quickly!” Jemma hisses, suddenly shrinking down in her seat and wishing her ice cream tub is big enough to hide her. “She’s coming over here.”

“Over _here_?” Fitz blinks, alarmed, but there’s not much time to fill him in before Liesel herself is batting her eyelashes at him.

“Hi, Leo,” she says sweetly, and Jemma immediately hides behind one of their course books to hide her snicker, hoping that both Fitz and Liesel are too preoccupied to notice her muffled laugh - or her embarrassed flush.

Fitz stutters. “Um, hi, Young.”

“Oh, please, call me Liesel.”

“Right.”

There’s a long, stilted silence, and eventually, unable to bear the awkwardness, Jemma peeks out from behind the books and coughs pointedly at Fitz. He glares at her, and she’s about to communicate how entirely helpless he’s being, before Liesel clears her throat.

“Uh - Leo, would you like to take a walk with me?”

Fitz looks somewhat bewildered, but Jemma smiles brightly and kicks his leg under the table. “He’d _love_ to. I’ll look after our things, _Leo_.”

Liesel’s so busy smiling in delight that she doesn’t notice Fitz mouthing his confusion over his shoulder as they walk away, and Jemma just waves cheerfully and returns to her work, swirling her spoon around her melted ice cream.

And it seems a little odd, but suddenly the words seem all jumbled up. She’s reading them but she’s not really _understanding_ them, and it’s strange, because she feels oddly lonely in a park full of people. Her mind drifts to Fitz and Liesel without quite meaning to, and she feels an odd stir of emotion at the thought of Fitz bumbling through a conversation with Liesel, who is confident and elegant and opposite from Fitz in every possible way. If Fitz should be with anyone, it should be with someone that he actually shares common interests with, shouldn’t it? It should be someone who can keep up with his rambling, someone who hides the junk food away, someone who has a clever retort for each of his terrible jokes, someone who knows all the subtle things he tries to hide when he’s upset, someone like.. someone like..

_Someone like Sally Webber!_

“What are you so upset about?” comes a familiar voice, and Jemma realises she’s been frowning into her ice cream for the past few minutes. She glances up to see Fitz sliding back into the park bench.

“Just thinking. That was a quick walk,” she observes.

He shrugs. “There wasn’t much to say.”

“Wasn’t there?” she says warily, lips pulling into a teasing smile. “She did all the talking, didn’t she? You probably don’t even know what time to pick her up.”

Fitz jerks up so fast she jumps and just about spills her ice cream. “Oh! I’m not.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m not picking her up. Or taking her anywhere. Or even seeing her again.” He says it easily, like he’s telling her the time, and she’s left gaping at him.

“You turned down a date with _Liesel Young_? Fitz, even I would jump at the chance to kiss her!”

Fitz shrugs, doodling on the corner of a book (which she _hates_ , but she’ll let it slide for now).

“She’s Liesel Young, but she’s not..” He pauses, slightly shyly, an expression she hasn’t seen on Fitz for a long time. “She’s not Jemma Simmons, you know? She doesn’t dissect cats for sport or wear safety glasses as a fashion accessory, and she believes in Valentine’s Day. She’s not my best friend, and this is a day I don’t give up for anyone. Not even the Liesels of the world.”

There’s a long silence, and a slow, touched smile spreading across her face, and when he ducks his head in embarrassment, she laughs, cheeks tinged pink with pleasure.

“You just want the rest of my ice cream, don’t you?”

“That would help, yeah,” he admits. She grins and passes him the tub.

“I still can’t believe you rejected Liesel Young.”

(and quite frankly, in that moment, neither can he.)

 

_twenty-six._

 

“Are you afraid?”

They’re at the beach, sitting in the boot of their crappy car, their toes skimming the ground and a spread of fish and chips set out between them. Sea breeze wafts through her hair, and she keeps having to brush it aside so it doesn’t whack Fitz in the face, until eventually he rolls his eyes and digs out a hair tie from his pockets.

They’ve been here for a while now, watching the rolling waves and the soaring seagulls, and they haven’t yet said anything of importance, but neither of them are surprised when she speaks up on the real matter.

He frowns thoughtfully for a minute and wipes his fingers on the newspapers.

“Yeah. I am.”

She smiles, fingers curling on the edge of the car.  “Well, it’s okay, you know. To be afraid. It’s built into the best of us, you know.”

“I know,” he says. “Are you?”

She glances at him. “Afraid?”

Fitz doesn’t look at her, instead staring down at his feet. The toes of his sneakers brush the ground, ratty and worn with use. She bought him a new pair the other day, but she knows he finds comfort in his old ones.

“It’s a stupid question, I know.”

“Why is it a stupid question?” Jemma asks, tone sharp.

“Well..” His shoulders lift into a half-hearted shrug. “Because you’re Jemma Simmons, you know? You’re not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of lots of things,” she tells him evenly. “I just don’t say so openly.”

This time, Fitz finally meets her gaze. “Why don’t you?”

It’s her turn to shrug, and she does so with a thoughtful pause to punctuate. “I’m not sure,” she settles for eventually. “I think I just don’t want to worry anyone.”

He nudges her shoulder, and her lips curve into a gentle smile as her other shoulder bumps the side of the car.

“You can worry me all you like, Jemma.”

“Okay,” she grins, and then begins to fold up the empty fish and chip wrappers carefully, into neat little squares. “I’m afraid,” she admits. “I’m so, so terrified of going into the field. We could die, or lose each other, or be thrown in jail, or - or - “

“Worse, be expelled?” he offers with a laugh, and she can’t help but smile madly.

“Naturally. But we’ll be doing plenty of good in the world, Fitz. We’ll be making a difference. And I think that’s enough. Don’t you?”

When she glances back over to him, he’s already looking at her, and there are so many things flashing in his eyes that she can’t even begin to pick them out one by one.

“Yeah,” he says with a broad smile. “Ready for our grand adventure, Simmons?”

Jemma beams at him. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Fitz.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jemma.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she returns. “But I still don’t believe in it.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t.”

(of course she doesn’t.)

 

_twenty-seven._

 

“Hi, Fitz. Um - I know you can’t respond. And maybe you can’t even hear this. But some studies show that sometimes, while in a coma, it’s still possible to hear, so.. here I am.”

Maybe it’s raining. Maybe the skies are clear blue. Maybe it’s even the middle of the night. None of that matters. Nothing really matters, not anymore, not while she’s curled up next to a bed, clasping a cold, pale hand, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears from falling.

He says nothing, which is to be expected, obviously, but she takes a sharp breath anyway.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Fitz. I know that in terms of public holidays, we never much cared for it, but it was the day we met, remember? Well,” she adds, “not met. But became friends. Um - actually, not yet. We weren’t friends yet. But that was the lead up to the best ten years of my life, wasn’t it? Because they were, you know. The best ten years of my life.” She pauses to wince. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. It’s just, I’m.. I’m used to you filling in all the gaps.”

In a sudden moment of desperation, she grips his hand so tightly she thinks she may have crushed some bones. “Come back, okay? Come and fill the gaps. The silence is unbearably lonely without you here."

“Simmons?” The door suddenly swings open, and Skye, looking grave, steps in and shuts the door quietly behind her. “How is he doing?”

Jemma hastily wipes away the tears that have escaped and manages a watery smile for Skye. “The same. I was hoping that today.. Um, anyway. What have you got there?”

Skye glances down at the bag in her hands, and then smiles, setting them on the bed. “I bought presents.” Upon pulling out a plush monkey, Jemma can’t help but laugh. Skye shrugs. “Coulson wouldn’t let me get a real one, but I got this for when he wakes up. I would have gotten something earlier, but he’s been really strict about going off base lately..”

“It’s fine,” Jemma says gratefully. “Thank you, Skye.”

“That’s not all,” Skye continues, pulling out a small, lavender packet. “I got you some smelly things for the bath. I know.. I know it’s a weird thing to give, but you’ve been holed up here for so long, I feel like you could do with some relaxation..”

“I.. Thank you, Skye,” she tells her genuinely, taking the packet with a tiny smile. “But I- I don’t think I’m ready for baths just yet.”

Skye grimaces immediately. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I just-”

“It’s fine,” she assures, and they fall silent for a moment as Skye draws up a chair and settles herself next to the bed.

“It’s weird,” Skye says eventually, and her voice is tinged with the unbearable sadness that Jemma has been feeling ever since she saw Fitz like this. “You don’t think about all the things you never got to say until you can’t say them.”

Jemma swallows. “Yes. But it’ll be okay. It’s always okay. It _has_ to be okay.”

Skye doesn’t say anything, but she reaches over and grabs Jemma’s hand, and they sit at his bedside for what seems like forever, both thinking _please wake up please wake up please wake up._

And later, after Skye leaves to pour the bath she’s so insistent Jemma takes, she squeezes his hand.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Fitz,” she says, and the silence that follows is unbearably empty.

 

_twenty-eight._

 

“I miss you,” she blurts out, standing at his door in the middle of the night, after weeks of radio silence the avoidance that comes with your best friend having killed your.. Will. She’s not entirely sure what he had been to her, but she knows she loved him, and she knows that he’s gone.

But she also knows that she loves the man standing there, eyes slightly widened, mouth partially parted in surprise, and she also knows that she’s probably butchering everything with her out of the blue appearance, but she just has to say it, she _does_.

“What?” he manages, and she’d roll her eyes if it were any other situation. Instead, she offers him a small smile.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Fitz. And I miss you. A lot.”

“I was giving you some space,” he explains, but she shakes her head.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want space?” she asks, and by the look on his face, she’s willing to bet that the answer’s _no_. “Fitz,” she tries again, “When have we ever had space? Ever since that day - eleven years ago now - we became friends, we’ve been invading each other’s space for as long as I can remember. That’s how we got the name FitzSimmons, remember? Joined at the hip?”

He nods, a faint smile on his lips. “I remember.”

“Okay. Okay, good,” she breathes, feeling as if a weight has been lifted off her chest. “You were my best friend, Fitz. And I know there was Will, and Maveth, and everything before and after and inbetween, but you’re still my best friend. And, if you’re willing, if you still feel the same way.. more than that. I realise that what you said back in the med pod may have been a spur of the moment decision, and I realise that I ruined our dinner date, but I don’t think I need a dinner date to be happy. I think…” She trails off, and Fitz blinks at her, but the only expression she can make out is surprise.

“What do you think?” he prompts gently.

“I think I just need you,” Jemma says. It sort of comes out all wrong - in her head, she’d planned to say it shy and sweet and tenderly, but instead the way it’s said is firm and determined and filled with belief.

Fitz just stares at her for a long time, leaning against the door frame, puzzling it all out while she’s still trying to catch her breath, and when he finally speaks she’s so busy worrying that she misses it entirely.

“Pardon?” she winces, and to her utmost surprise, Fitz laughs.

“I said,” he repeats, and _he’s_ the one who’s shy, “happy Valentine’s Day, Jemma.”

She blinks, stunned. “What.. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means..” he says slowly, importantly, “all of the things you just said. And more. More than that.”

Jemma takes an involuntary breath. “So you..”

“Yeah,” he nods, and he’s smiling.

“Oh.” She glances down to smile at her shoes, and after a few moments of awkwardly hovering in the hallway, Fitz speaks again.

“Am I… Am I supposed to kiss you?”

“Oh! Yes! Oh, hang on, no, wait a second,” she stumbles, and goes digging through her pockets for her phone before he can even begin to feel wounded. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Fitz stares in confusion.

“It’s not Valentine’s Day yet,” she explains, showing her screen to him, trying not to show her giddiness, even though the world is spinning.

“Right,” he says slowly, and she holds a finger up.

“Wait a minute. Just wait.”

So they wait, and eventually _11:58_ turns to _11:59_ , and then finally:

_12:00._

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” they say in unison, and Jemma can’t help but grin like a fool.

“You can now,” she adds, after a moment of hesitation. “Kiss me, I mean.”

So he leans in, and she leans up, and lips meet lips and hands meet waist and stars align (well, perhaps not quite, but they’re certainly getting there), and in the end it’s him that finally pulls away, leaving her somewhat speechless and struggling for her thoughts.

“Do you still hate Valentine’s Day?” he asks, and she pauses to think about it.

“There are a lot of unpleasant aspects of Valentine’s Day,” she decides eventually, a mischievous grin curling up her features. “But I am willing to look past some of them for you.”

“For me,” he echoes, like he can’t quite believe it, and she nods.

“For you.”


End file.
